


The Anach Cuan

by orphan_account



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:03:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily, after being stuck in the Golden Cat for longer than she can bear, receives comfort from an outside source. Song can be found here! --> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bULfyxCVEvw</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anach Cuan

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the headcanon that the runes are inscribed with Ogham inscriptions and hints at the Outsider having access to other planes of existence and other centuries

He stroked her hair, kindly, in an almost fatherly fashion, as unbecoming as it was for a creature such as he. She had her face buried in his chest, her tears catching in his jacket, sliding down, disappearing into the aether with the rest of his edges. The Golden Cat was uncharacteristically quiet. She might have noticed the change in the flow of time but she was grieving. He let her grieve, quietly. He pressed his nose to the top of her head. She hadn’t seemed frightened by his presence, nay, seemed just the opposite. He was familiar to her, in such a way that a child is familiar with a fairy tale. Either the teachings of the Abbey hadn’t quite gotten to her yet, or she was in such a desperate need of comfort that she overlooked them easily. She had rushed at him, clinging to his legs, sobbing into his knees. She called him a number of names; “the one who saved Corvo”, “the reason mummy is dead”, “scourge of the world”, “plague bringer”, before finally settling on “magic man”. She never called him by his well known moniker. It was always a loose iteration of some other thing, names not quite unfamiliar but not what he was particularly used to. He briefly wondered if she was indeed afraid but as her tiny fists pounded away on his thighs, she sobbed and stuttered her way through an angry, grieving tirade, and he decided this wasn’t the case. He scooped her up, and they were currently hovering a few feet off the ground, the Outsider cross legged as Emily clung to his waist, nestled comfortably in his lap. They both knew he wouldn’t let her fall.

As the last of her heaviest sobs petered out to a dull whimper, she started wiping her nose on her sleeve. The Outsider, face still pressed against the top of her head, started mumbling a slow, sweet drawl in a language completely alien to the young Empress.

“Má fhaighimse sláinte is fada a bheas trácht ar

an mhéid a báthadh as Anach Cuan”

He was rocking ever so slightly back and forth, cradling her. She kept her ear close to his chest, leaning for support. There was no absence of a heartbeat, but there was no distinguishable sound that spoke of something alive either. Whatever was there, it kept in rhythm with the slow cadence that slipped off the Outsider’s tongue.

“Mo thrua amárach gach athair is máthair

bean is páiste atá ag sileadh súl”

Emily knit her eyebrows, tears drying in streaks on her face. She tried to place the language, trying to find some word or syllable to cling to, but nothing stuck.

“A Rí na ngrásta, a cheap neamh is Párthas

nár bheag an tábhacht dúinn beirt ná triúr?”

 

There was something peculiar in his voice, Emily couldn’t figure out what. As he rocked her, she felt as though the sound was coming from several places at once.

“Ach lá chomh breá leis gan gaoth gan báisteach

is lán an bháid acu a scuabadh ar hiúil”

The sound reverberated off the walls, several layers now tripping over one another, some deep, some barely even melodic at all. It reminded Emily of a rusty whaling ship, creaking out along the sea, unsure if it will ever actually arrive at its destination but chugging along nonetheless. She unconsciously started to burrow into his waist, settling down in the warmth of comfort.

“Nár mhór an t-ionadh os comhair na ndaoine

a bhfeiscint sínte ar chúl a gcinn?”

Her eyelids felt heavy. She was no longer aware of the presence of his physical body, but still she felt surrounded. She let weariness take her, closing her eyes and leaning back, hitting nothing but never falling.

“Screadach is caoineadh a scanródh daoine

gruaig á cíoradh is an chreach á roinn”

She found herself surrounded by the scent of damp and rotted wood, the mist of the sea slowly creeping into her lungs. It was… oddly comforting.

“Bhí buachaillí óga ann, tíocht an fhómhair

á síneadh ar chróchar is á dtabhairt go cill”

She could feel it, being weightless without actually being weightless, like floating on a bed of salt. She folded her small arms over her middle, tucking them in around herself like a blanket (though she needn’t have, as the Outsider held fast to her the entire time).

“Is gurbh é gléas a bpósta a bhí á dtórramh

is, a Dhia na glóire, nár mhór an feall?”

She had fallen completely asleep. Her breathing was slow and regular, the tiniest trace of a smile playing on the corners of her mouth.

The Outsider himself grinned. The sounds that had escaped his lips were still dancing on the walls of the Golden Cat, all else rendered silent. The magic of his words now lost on sleeping Emily, time itself started reforming, bending into something coherent and linear. As it did so, the imprints left by his song blinked back into the shadows, tucking themselves in the deepest recesses of the waking world, waiting for someone to stumble upon them again in hundreds of years, in the form of runes and charms and trinkets or whatever it was the locals were fond of in that time. For now, they were just the dreamy memories of a sleeping empress. 

He carried her across the room in one smooth motion, all pretense of mysticism gone as his boots creaked across the hard wooden floor. Careful not to wake the girl, he set her down in the cot. He tucked her in like a good father would do, wrapping her tight and warm and safe. He brushed the hair back from her forehead and planted a light kiss right between her eyes. As he pulled away, he noticed her facial muscles twitch into a frown, and then back into neutrality. He paused a moment, and then leaned in so he was level with her ear.

“Ní díobháil eolais a chuir dá traoir iad

ach mí-adh mór a bhi sa ‘Caisleán Nua’

Is é críochnú an amhráin gur báthadh mórán

is d’fhág ábhar dóláis ag Anach Cuan.”

With a whisper, he was gone.

That night the empress dreamt of leaky boats, old kings, and the sea.

Corvo came for her the next morning.


End file.
